


How To Train Your Snafu

by deliciously



Category: Generation Kill, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously/pseuds/deliciously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sledge was having a really bad day. It started out fine actually, but a series of events consisting of a slow and crowded bus commute, an unfortunate mixup at the coffee shop, and several angry clients had left him with a dark cloud he just couldn't shift. Oh, and there was also the matter of the beaten-up Cajun sex-god currently inhabiting his bed.</p><p> </p><p>(Title inspired by Dreamwork's How To Train Your Dragon, mostly because Snafu's mannerisms reminded me of Toothless and the idea stuck. This is in no way a retelling of the movie)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Train Your Snafu

**Author's Note:**

> This started on a whim and spiralled a little out of control. I've never written in the HBO miniseries fandoms before and the rating may go up with later chapters. 
> 
> (There will most likely be cameos from BoB too, but I'll tag that later also)

Sledge was having a really bad day. It started out fine actually, but a series of events consisting of a slow and crowded bus commute, an unfortunate mixup at the coffee shop, and several angry clients had left him with a dark cloud he just couldn't shift. Oh, and there was also the matter of the beaten-up Cajun sex-god currently inhabiting his bed.

This wasn't actually happening, Sledge reasoned, toying with the corner of the blanket as he lay otherwise stock still on the very edge of his mattress. He'd been in the kitchen when he'd first heard the commotion outside his first-floor apartment. He was about to take out the trash when he'd heard something solid crash into the dumpster in the alley beside his apartment block, and some sense of paranoia had driven him to grab the bat, trash forgotten, on his way to investigate. He'd locked up just in case, and slipped the key into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, cheerfully emblazoned with _Eugene Sledge: Tech Support_ , and drawn the bat close to his side as he peered around into the dimly-lit side street. At first all he saw was the blurry outline of the dumpsters before his eyes became accustomed to the dark, snapping into focus on the two figures in the alley, kicking at something on the ground. It took him a while to realize it wasn't a something so much as a someone.

"Hey! What the fuck is going on out here?" He shouted, feeling stupidly brave with his wooden bat. It hadn't yet occurred to him that his bat wouldn't do a whole lot of good if they pulled a gun. He walked closer, bringing the bat up as if he were about to hit a home run. "Leave him alone." Sledge tried to keep his voice level. The smaller guy lying on the ground looked up, bloody and bruised, his expression passive yet tinged with a faint hint of amusement. 

"Stay the fuck out of it!" shouted one of the thugs, kicking the smaller guy hard in the stomach. The poor guy made a choked sound at the impact, and Sledge knew he just couldn't leave it at that, he couldn't let something like this happen. Cursing under his breath, he brought the bat up, swinging in a neat arc until it made contact with the guy's shoulder blade. Sledge heard a faint pop as the guys shoulder dislocated under the blow. The other attacker looked up, stunned as his friend howled. Sledge used the distraction to land a blow to the back of the guy's knees, not hard enough to do any permanent damage but certainly hard enough to fell him like a Christmas tree.

"Fucking hell, what the fuck is going on out here?" shouted his upstairs neighbor from the second floor fire escape. "Sledge, hold up man, lemme get my Beretta. Shit is going _down._ "

"Ray, would you chill out, I've got this." 

"Dude, he's not worth a bullet, let's get out of here," the guy with the busted shoulder said, pulling his fallen comrade to his feet. They made their escape, somewhat hindered by their injuries. Sledge made sure they'd gone, before dropping to his knees beside the object of their anger, who made a valiant effort to push himself upright.

"Hey, stay still a minute, are you okay." Sledge pulled him gently up until he was sitting against the dumpster. The guy just blinked slowly, looking at him like he didn't have a fuck to give.

"Do you need an ambulance or something?" 

"Nah, I'll be fine, let me up," his voice was deep and smooth, like honey whiskey and sex and Sledge was slightly taken aback. He tried to stand, stumbling slightly before Sledge caught him under the shoulder, pulling him into his side for support. 

"Eu-gene Sledge," the stranger growled. Sledge was confused for about half a second, before he realized his name was written right there on his shirt. "Well thanks for rescuin' me, Sledgehammuh, I'll be on my way now."

"Don't be stupid, you can barely walk. Let's get you inside and fix you up." Sledge tugged the reluctant guy towards his front door, pulling them both across the doorstep after a quick fumble for his key. He locked the door behind them, somewhat paranoid the guys from before might come back for round two.

The bat lay forgotten in the back alley beside the dumpster.

Once Sledge had successfully maneuvered them into the bathroom, the stranger shrugged out of his torn button-down shirt and pulled himself up onto the tiny strip of counter, casting Sledge a sober look, in total contrast to the slight tug of a smirk that seemed to constantly linger on the smaller man's face. Sledge ran the tap for a bit until the water warmed up, soaking a washcloth. He made to bring it up to the guy's face, where he could see a black eye beginning to form, when his hand was stopped by slim fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"I'll take care of it," the guy ground out, pulling the cloth from Sledges fingers and holding it up to his face."

Sledge just stood there, awkwardly and out of place as he watched the blood and dirt seep into the clean white cloth "So I never got your name," he said, trying to sound casual, and probably failing miserably.

The guy looked at him with the eye that he wasn't currently tending to. 

"Call me Snafu." 

Sledge shot him a quizzical look, to which he received only a raised eyebrow in acknowledgement. Snafu pulled the now-despoiled washcloth away from his face and dropped it unceremoniously into the sink. He slid down, and Sledge was suddenly aware of how close he'd been standing in the cramped space. 

"Is there anyone I can call to come get you?" Sledge asked, failing miserably to locate any space to stand in that wasn't verging on up-close-and-personal proportions with his now slightly damp visitor. Cleaned up, he didn't look bad at all, in fact, he looked kind of adorable, wet bangs framing his lightly bruised face. Sledge shook the thought from his head. He would not let himself perv on the injured guy.

"Nah, just let me walk home, I'll be alright."

"You live close?"

Snafu shrugged again, looking down at the tiled floor from under long eyelashes.

As he said it, his knees buckled, and Sledge had to grab him again to stop him from tipping face-first into the toilet bowl.

"It's late. Let's... Let's get you to bed," he decided, shuffling to support Snafu the same way he had earlier, leading him back through the hallway and into his bedroom. 

"Have to admit, this isn't how I saw this night ending," Snafu murmured, his voice deep and rich.

Sledge ignored the slurred comment setting him down on the bed. He immediately flopped against the pillows, curling up on his side, mumbling something quietly into the pillow. Sledge watched him for a second, before moving to find him something to sleep in. All his clothes looked too big. He finally settled on a pair of sweatpants that had shrunk in the dryer, and a too tight shirt he'd been given at a team building exercise. He tossed them onto the bed. Snafu peered out suspiciously from under the nest of blankets he'd created, his eyes lazily looking from Sledge, to the clothes, and back again. An arm darted out from under the pile of blankets to grab at the offered clothes. Snafu didn't bother with the shirt, choosing to remain shirtless as he squirmed and twisted under the blanket, finally tossing his own pair of torn jeans. They landed on Sledge's head.

He folded them neatly, placing them on the dresser. He watched as Snafu yawned, his eyelids drooping lazily, "You joinin' me any time soon?"

Sledge blinked, wondering if he'd imagined the breathily whispered request, "I'll just go set myself up on the couch for the night."

Snafu shot him a pointed look, shuffling over until he was only occupying half of Sledge's double bed. Sledge sighed as he pulled off his clothes, and grabbed at the pajamas he'd left folded at the end of his bed, changing into them. He tried to ignore the blatant staring from the other man, but really, there was no ignoring how intently Snafu was looking at him as he climbed into the bed. He lay stiffly, close to the edge with barely a sliver of his comforter to cover him, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable in his own bed. Although he was facing in the opposite direction he could feel the other man staring at him in the dark. 

“I’m not all that bad Sledgehammuh. Try to relax.”

Sledge whipped around as fast as he could horizontally. “How am I supposed to relax. I mean no offense when I say this, but you’re a stranger I found beaten up in the alley out back. You could be some kind of serial killer for all I know.”

There was silence, shot through with a deep chuckle. “You think too hard on these things, don’t ya? I’ve seen you with a bat; I wouldn’t try anything if even if I was some kind of murderer.” 

Suddenly, it was hard to remember why Sledge had doubted the other man. Under all those blankets with his eyes half closed and his voice laced with sleep he looked the picture of innocence.  
“Pass me one of those goddamn blankets before I catch my death over here,” he grumbled, but without any real conviction behind it.

“Come’n get it,” he murmured, followed by something that sounded like that _stupid_ nickname again.

Sledge begrudgingly shuffled closer to the center of the bed. He hadn’t even realized he’d owned so many blankets. If he hadn’t personally dragged Snafu into the apartment he’d accuse him of smuggling at least half of them in. Snafu extended a blanketed arm silently, as if inviting Sledge into his soft little cave, and Sledge could do nothing more than cuddle up beside the broken little creature he’d discovered by accident.


End file.
